Star Struck
I decided to put my plan to return to the world of Healthy Adult Relationships (HAR, har har) into action, and the Universe had opinions about it. Maybe. That’s the thing about being agnostic toward gods and the supernatural and whatnot, as opposed to being purely atheistic; I hang out in the sliver of wiggle room where “maybe” lives. So when I make a choice to rejoin society in full and then a handful of things happen in quick succession as if the Universe is saying, “nah, bro, stay inside” it’s hard not to listen. A least a little.
“Sorry to misgender you, man, but we call everyone ‘bro,’ dude.”
Photo Credits: NASA, ESA, CSA, and STScI.
The weekend of the Fourth, after more deliberation than a Supreme Court bent on stripping Americans of human rights, I committed to getting myself outside in the evenings. And on the Fourth itself, I actually left the house as if I was going to a stand-up show. I did not go to a show, didn’t even have one in mind to go to, so it amounted to me just going for a walk at 7 pm; but it was a start. Baby steps. The next day, in the afternoon, I made a plan to go see a friend who was in a show that evening. No performing for me, I just wanted to watch and catch up with some people I haven’t seen in a bit (a couple of years).
And here’s where the trouble began. I noticed a name on the line-up that makes my stomach lurch. Someone who doesn’t like me is going to be there. “But Natasha, lots of people don’t like you,” I hear you think. Sure. But this person… well, they just make me feel super uncomfortable. I don’t feel physically unsafe around them or anything like that, thankfully, but it’s awkward around them to the point where I’m distracted and nervous when they’re around. It’s annoying. If/when I get back into the swing of performing again and we get booked on the same show, I can deal with it. But I’m not going to put myself through that just for fun. Just like I can deal with the hassle of flying to get myself across the country, but I’m not going to do it just to watch a movie.
So instead of going to the show, I took another walk through the Tenderloin. Maybe it was the blue dress that got me a lot of attention. Or maybe it’s the casual ease with which I (apparently) walk through one of the “rougher” neighborhoods in SF that’s getting eyes on me, and the dress is merely an easier focal point to discuss. Like when a friend looks happier than usual and you ask her if she got a new haircut and not if she got a new prescription. Someone, a man, from the looks of him, matches my pace and walks a block with me. He asks about my dress and I tell him it was a gift and I don’t know where I got it. I wonder if he’s hitting on me. He observes the casual ease I (apparently) display as we walk down Polk Street together, implying that I ought to be afraid. I note (internally) that his hands are full, weighed down with shopping bags; a nice, expensive-looking camera is slung over his shoulder. I wonder if this conversation is leading to a request to take my picture. I also think about the casual ease he displays as he walks with a highly resellable piece of equipment bouncing against his side with every step, practically begging to be stolen. It’s not even in a case. He’s not thinking about his enticing camera or his full hands. He’s still asking me about the dress. He wants to know if it was made by hand. I assure him it was not but he’s staring at me like maybe I’m lying and he’s doing it so intently I think maybe I am. The conversation takes a left turn when he tells me the dress reminds him of a dress his mother wore and thankfully he takes an actual left turn too, leaving me to wonder what to make of all that just happened.
But it wasn’t much that happened. He was just a guy making conversation. I felt a little uncomfortable, and I was glad it was a short interaction, but I was never afraid for my safety. I took the remark about my “being at ease” as a compliment to me and an insult to the neighborhood. It was sort of a threat, but I didn’t really think I was becoming entangled in some sort of serial killer cat and mouse situation. I was on guard and braced for continued awkwardness, but I wasn’t gearing up to run. In other words, I got from that walk exactly what I was avoiding when I began it: An unpleasant social interaction
The next day, in an unconnected yet related event, a stranger hit me with a cane. She just decided I was someone who could use a good whack across the back, and she was more than happy to be the one to give it to me as I rode by her on my bike in the street. (She mainly hit my shoulder, but that doesn’t rhyme as well.) I screamed “fuck” at her but didn’t stop. Didn’t even cross my mind, really. I would have liked some sort of justice, but I don’t think there was any there to be found. Plus she’d already got me pretty good once. I’m glad I wasn’t inclined to turn around and ask for more. It hurts a lot, but my back (and shoulder) can take abuse a lot better than my face can. So I just continued on to visit my mom.
I’ve (obviously) thought about it a lot, but I have no real idea why she targeted me. Maybe she was taking out some general anger toward cyclists or lashing out at the world at large. Maybe she thought I was the devil, (though the blue dress was the day before). Did I deserve it? I don’t think so. She seemed to think so, but I’m not going to trust her judgment. She was walking out into the street against a red light and, while the traffic is light on Market these days now that it’s limited to buses, cabs, and emergency vehicles (and bicycles), it still seemed like an ill-advised plan.
Speaking of ill-advised plans, here’s a picture of the resulting bruise, a mark on a constellation of freckles.
Photo Credit: My Upset Daughter
But whether I deserved it or not, the bigger question remains: Is the Universe, by throwing those things my way in quick succession, just as I was about to “get out there,” trying to tell me something? Probably not. But…. I like to think so. I mean, you could argue that the whole point of life is to imbue the world with meaning, so why not do it myself? And the best part is that it’s entirely open as to how I wish to interpret it.
An older (yet younger?), more pessimistic version of myself in the past would say I’m being told to give up before I start. But now? I’m taking these disparate events as little reminders that a good choice isn’t always going to be easy. The Universe is letting me know that negative interactions with people fall into three main categories: old relationships fraught with emotional discomfort and unpleasant memories, new people who are awkward, annoying, or rude (even when they’re nice), and the odd stranger who will just straight up hit you. And they can happen at any time, sometimes all in a 24-hour period.
And sometimes, when that kinda shit happens, all you can do is yell “fuck!” and keep on moving forward.
